


Crimes (Against the Crown)

by ashley_ingenious



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Erica and Isaac are Twins, How do I tag?, M/M, Multi, Not in the main pairing, Rape/non con elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashley_ingenious/pseuds/ashley_ingenious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a bittersweet time in each orphans life, when they realize there are things about themselves that they may never know. They starve for information, scraping it from the bowels of whoever will give it to them, and then, in desperation, they scrape some more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimes (Against the Crown)

**Author's Note:**

> This was my attempt at a Cinderella AU. It literally no longer bears any resemblance to Cinderella. Like, at all.

There's a bittersweet time in each orphans life, when they realize there are things about themselves that they may never know. They starve for information, scraping it from the bowels of whoever will give it to them, and then, in desperation, they scrape some more.

  
From Hilda, a tired old maid who worked at the orphanage, Stiles learned that it had been raining the night he'd been delivered, and that it had been the end of the week. She remembered because her beau had cancelled their evening plans when the storm had brewed up out of nowhere. And she'd never heard from him again.  
  
Wallace, a janitor, told him that the authorities had brought him. That all he'd brought with him was a basket, painted black, and a paisley quilt. He had neither now. The basket had held flowers in the foyer until Wallace himself had fallen asleep with his pipe in his mouth and caught it ablaze. The quilt had been taken apart to patch his clothes as he grew.  
  
From Madge Boissiere, Headmistress of the once esteemed, now largely forgotten Worthington's House for Boys, he learned that he'd been a quiet baby. He hadn't cried much, whimpered or whined like the other boys.  
  
"Wide eyed and quiet," she'd said, with a rare smile. The day was sunny, and he'd stopped his chores to duck into her office.  
  
Madge was his favorite. The window behind her office gave her a halo when the sun was high- she always looked a bit like an angel to Stiles. Her hair turned the slightest bit red in the sun, like copper. And try as she might to keep it pinned in a matronly bun, tendrils fell this way and that all the time.  
  
But the best thing were her eyes. They were brown, but never dull. And when the light hit them, they shine like something alive. Like spun gold.  
  
Like his own, if Scott were to be trusted.  
  
"And then," Madge sighed, "McCall taught you how to talk, and I haven't had a moments peace since!"  
  
She laughed, and Stiles couldn't help but laugh along with her, though the joke was old and long since tired.  
  
"Now I see that broom in your hand, and I know you're meant to be cleaning. Get to it, or I'll tell Finstock there's to be no dessert for you."  
  
Stiles turned tail and ran, broom kicking up dust behind him. He caught a glimpse of it, suspended in the light, as he spun round to see if she was chasing him.  Old Madge had given quite a good chase when he was younger. It'd been Stiles' favorite game. The swat he often got when she caught him was a small price to pay. And she'd always stroke his hair after, and tell him he was good.  
  
He heard her laughing now, as she rose to close the door to her study behind him. It reminded him of much better times. But the Madame was getting old now, her hair laced with gray, wrinkles spider webbing through her radiant features.  
  
"Out of the way, Smells!" One of the older boys yelled as they pushed passed him to the staircase. Their voices bounced off the old mahogany panels as they ran.  
  
"Awful nickname!" Stiles shouted back, "I give you a zero for creativity!"  
  
He trailed behind them, sweeping half heartedly as he went. Chores were boring and pointless. The dust just came back anyway, and there was lunch downstairs. Lunch, and a spot at an old wooden bench with the only family he'd ever known: his friends.  
  
"Madge'll have your hide if she finds out you've not done your chores."  
  
Stiles was shaken out of his thoughts by a drawl. Looking around, he saw Erica leaned up against a wall.  
  
He blinked, waiting.  
  
Isaac slunk around the corner, blonde curls falling over his eye, and glared at Stiles, then whispered something into Erica's ear.  
  
She clicked her tongue. "Ah, Isaac's right. You are her favorite. You'll probably get away with it, like you get away with everything else."  
  
Stiles regarded them, warily, like always.  
  
Isaac and Erica were twins, brought to the orphanage when their parents were arrested for crimes against the crown. Stiles had assumed that they’d been killed, but he didn’t actually know. It wasn’t the kind of thing you could just ask someone.

But it'd been a scandal at the time, as it was supposed to be an all boys orphanage. But Erica was the exception, as she was in everything else.  
  
The twins were especially terrifying, though, because they'd only arrived at the orphanage a year ago, at thirteen. They knew more about life outside the orphanage than anyone else, including most of the staff.  
  
Like Siamese cats they paraded around the orphanage, Isaac only deigning to speak to Erica. And Erica speaking to whoever she pleased. They liked him, Stiles sometimes thought. But he was never sure, because Isaac never looked at him for longer than a moment, and Erica's smiled were always tinged with something very sharp.  
  
"I'm doing my chores," he muttered lamely, even though he'd forgotten the broom in his hand as soon as he'd seen her.  
  
She grinned at him. "Sure you are."  
  
Pushing herself off the wall, she made towards the old staircase that led toward the dining hall.  
  
"Boyd's invited us to sit at your table for lunch," she said, examining her nails. "So I guess we'll see you later. When you're done with all that hard work."  
  
With a toss of her hair she was gone, down the stairs, with her curly blonde shadow behind her.  
  
Stiles had seen a cat push a flower pot off a ledge for no good reason once. He'd never understood it. But he imagined Erica and Isaac might enjoy doing something like that. That they might find some satisfaction in seeing it shatter.  
  
He mock swept. The entrance way and the landing above the stairs looked especially pristine, mostly because they had rugs for the dirt to be swept under. A few minutes time found him plopping down next to his best friend, Scott McCall, at an aged wooden bench. A warm bowl of chicken noodle soup was in front of him, and his friends were laughing at some joke he missed.  
  
More importantly, though, Erica was sandwiched tight between Boyd and Isaac, Boyd's arm slung over her shoulder in a rare show of affection. Isaac looked positively disgusted. Stiles shared the sentiment.  
  
"So, this is new," he said, motioning between the two of them.  
  
They turned to look at him in unison and that was, well, terrifying. He wasn't sure if he liked Erica, and he wasn't sure if Boyd liked him, and there was a strong possibility that the situation would go very poorly until Erica's lips curved up into a genuine, gorgeous smile.  
  
"He likes me," she said with a shrug, beaming at him. And Boyd just smiled back at her (Stiles didn't even know his mouth did that) before leveling a cool look at stiles.  
  
"I like her." He repeated, firmly.  
  
Off on Erica's other side, Isaac rolled his eyes and mouthed “they like each other,” like it was the most insipid thing he'd ever heard.  
  
Stiles snorted. Maybe he liked Isaac. He wasn't sure there, either.

Scott elbowed him in the ribs and he turned back to see Erica and Boyd's narrow eyes resting on him. He shrugged into his soup.  
  
"Welcome to the pack," he said, raising his spoon to his mouth.  
  
And Erica's whole face just _softened_ for him. Opened up like a flower. For a second, she was a princess, rather than a half feral alley cat and Stiles wished his welcome  had been more heartfelt and less... perfunctory.  
  
Boyd nodded at him, and Isaac assessed him coolly from the corner of the table.  
  
Scott however, beamed. "Yay! New friends! Hey Erica, did Boyd ever tell you about the time me and Stiles tried to scale the tower and fell in the garden and broke our arms?"  
  
Erica looked back and forth between them. "Wait, both of you broke your arms?"  
  
Stiles nodded, resigned to the synchronized idiocy that was him and his best friend.  
  
"His left, my right," he added around a mouth full of shredded chicken.  
  
Erica shook her head at them in awe.  
  
Just then, though, Isaac whispered something in her ear and Erica's eyes narrowed at something at something over stiles' shoulder.  
  
"Greenberg!" She shouted, all alley cat again.  
  
Stiles turned to see the same boy who'd pushed past him on the stairs walking over to their table, eyes wary.  
  
Everyone was afraid of Erica.  
  
"I think you owe my friend here an apology." She said firmly, eyes flitting to Stiles.  
  
"I- I'm sorry, Stiles." The other boy muttered.  
  
"For...?" Erica prompted, waving her spoon at him.  
  
"For pushing you on the stairs." Greenberg finished, shoulders slumped in defeat.  
  
Stiles was astonished. "Um...no problem?"  
  
The boy waited at the table until Erica waved him away.  
  
Stiles looks back and forth between the twins. "Nobody's ever done anything like that for me," he murmured.  
  
"Hey!" Scott cried, indignant and full mouthed.  
  
"Other than Scott," the younger boy qualified quickly, "no one else has ever done anything like that for me."  
  
Erica shrugged, like it was nothing, but when she looked at him her eyes shined warmly.  
  
"We've gotta take care of each other, us orphans."  
  
\---------  
  
Four months later  
  
Something was bothering Isaac. And Stiles was...rather upset that he knew that, considering Isaac still spoke to no one but Erica.  
  
He looked at Scott like the boy hung the moon, he tolerated Boyd because he made Erica happy. But he just seemed consistently surprised by Stiles, like he didn't understand why they kept seeing each other.  
  
Anyway, somewhere along the line of this maybe friendship, stiles had started to pick up on some of Isaacs jitters, some of the things that made him uncomfortable. And the last couple days, he'd definitely been uncomfortable.  
  
Stiles wracked his brain for things that may have happened to cause Isaac to feel this way. But the only thing that had happened recently was that Isaac had gotten assigned to kitchen duty. Which was completely benign, all of them had it at one point or another.  
  
(Stiles had burned down the entire east wall on his second day. Madge hadn't spoken to him for _weeks_ , she'd left the punishment to _Melissa_ , the orphanage nurse, who'd made Scott sleep in another room for a month. The whole ordeal had been awful.)  
  
"Do you think somebody's picking on him down there?" Stiles mused to Scott, back flat on the roof of the orphanage, eyes on the cloud speckled sky.  
  
"Do you think Erica would let someone live if she knew they were bothering Isaac?" Scott shot back. His arms were out wide at his sides as he balanced on the roofs edge, his face a mask of focus.  
  
"Well, what if he's not telling Erica?" Stiles responded, without thinking, and then paused. Because that was, way deeper into Isaac and Erica's relationship than he had any knowledge of. He knew that Isaac _only_ spoke to Erica, but he didn't know how much Isaac _told_ Erica.  
  
He shook his head to clear it.  
  
"Shouldn't we, I don't know, _do_ something?"  
  
Scott tripped, swore, and collapsed on his side next to stiles.  
  
"What do you propose we do? Go down to the kitchen and interrogate everyone? He's doing really well down there. D'you remember that baked chicken night before last? Let's not rock the boat."  
  
"But something is wrong," Stiles whined.  
  
"Wrong with who?"  
  
The boys turned their heads quickly to see Erica hoisting herself up to the roof.  
  
"Stiles thinks there's something wrong with Isaac." Scott said, before Stiles could tell him not to.  
  
She stopped, just for a second. So much so that, if stiles hadn't been paying such close attention, he wouldn't have noticed.  
  
But he was, so he did.  
  
She recovered quickly, smirking at them.  
  
"He's just figured out he likes boys," she said, with a nonchalant shrug. "I keep telling him he's biased. It's a complete sausage fest around here, but he's got this one guy in his sights and he's not quite sure what to do."  
  
Stiles snorted. "Seeing as he only talks to you, I see how that could be an issue."  
  
Erica gave him a level look, and he raised his eyebrow in response. He wasn't buying this tale of hers for a second, and he wanted her to know it.  
  
"He said sorry to me once," Scott piped up, breaking the brewing staring contest.  
  
Stiles and Erica's heads both whipped around to face him.  
  
"What?" Stiles said, unbelieving.  
  
Scott nodded absently. "Yeah, he bumped me once at dinner. I dropped my fork. He said sorry."  
  
"And what did you say?" Stiles asked, amazed.  
  
Scott looked at him like he'd grown a third head. "No problem?" He asked.  
  
"What- I don't even, no _problem_?" Stiles sputtered. "Isaac _spoke to you_ and your response was no problem?"  
  
Erica just watched Scott, bewildered.  
  
The older boy shrugged. "I didn't think he wanted me to make it a big deal."  
  
Erica recovered. "Maybe not as much of an issue as we though, huh, Stiles?" She asked, grinning.  
  
But something was still off with her.  
  
She turned back toward the trellis, hair bouncing behind her. "Your _moms_ looking for you, Scott."  
  
She called out as she started her descent.  
  
The two boys exchanged looks.  
  
"Ah, hell." Stiles murmured. Scott nodded miserably.  
  
\------------  
  
There was one sure fire way to alienate yourself in an orphanage: don't be an orphan.  
  
Scott wasn't.  
  
His mother, Melissa, had realized quickly that while her employment as the homes nurse offered them a roof, food, and an education for Scott, it also isolated him, and made it nigh on impossible for him to make friends.  
  
They'd quickly established a system. Scott had been moved from his mothers room in the attic to the main dormitories downstairs, and they stopped speaking.  
  
At least, where people could see them. Medical training was a job rotation just like sweeping or kitchen duty or the gardens. Scott just got it more often than most of the boys.  
  
Having a mother was Scott's best kept secret.  
  
"How'd you know?" Stiles asked at dinner, with absolutely no preamble.  
  
Scott was a mess, he kept looking around, making sure no one outside of their table was listening.  
  
"Know what?" Erica asked, face a mask of innocence.  
  
Scott slammed his fist down on the wood of the table, sending silverware clattering. Other boys turned to look.  
  
Erica's eyes went wide.  
  
"This isn't a game, Erica," he said, lowly.  
  
Isaac leaned to whisper something in Erica's ear, but she waved him off before he was finished.

"It's just us girls, up in the attic." She explained. "Me and Madge and Melissa and Hilda. The walls are thin. She talks about you." Erica paused.  
  
"Her and Madge talk a lot actually." She finished.  
  
"Yeah," Scott grumbled from his plate. "They were friends before we came here. Or they were both friends with the same person, I'm not sure."  
  
"Claudia," Erica said, nodding.  
  
"Who the hell is Claudia?" Stiles asked, offended that he hadn't known about this piece of his best friends life.  
  
Scott shrugged. "I don't really know. It was a while after we got here when I first heard about her. Maybe 6 or 7? Madge was freaking out about something, wasn't gonna let us stay. She said we could have a night, but that she didn't have the resources, the space. That if mom was in trouble with the crown, she couldn't attract the attention."  
  
Erica perked up at this. "Your moms in trouble with the crown?"  
  
Scott shook his head. "Not really. It's complicated. Anyway. After Madge had said all that, mom just looked at her, really sad, and said that Claudia would be disappointed in her. And that was it. Madge let us stay after that."  
  
"Well that's...weird. That kinda makes it sound like she's dead or something." Erica murmured.  
  
"They still talk about her, though?" Scott asked. The blonde nodded.  
  
"Yeah. Every night. It's like my bedtime story. Melissa will come in and say, remember the time me and Claudia did....whatever. And Madge will always say yeah, that she remembers. But then she'll tell Melissa that it's not safe to talk about Claudia here. And Melissa will get really sad and go back to her rooms. I've got this theory that Claudia is Madge's illegitimate daughter or something."  
  
"That's an angle." Scott agreed.  
  
"Am I the only one curious as to what 'not really' in trouble with the crown means?" Boyd chimed in, for the first time all evening.  
  
Scott sighed and looked at stiles imploringly. The younger boy nodded.  
  
"Melissa used to be a nurse in the castle. She met a visiting dignitary. Guy named Rafe. He'd been injured on his journey, spent a lot of time in the infirmary upon his arrival. They hit it off. The king had them married, they had a kid. Fast forward a few years, Deucalion comes, boots out the old king. Turns out Rafe was a spy working for him the whole time. Guy had another wife and three kids on some little farm in the south somewhere." He said, quickly. Scott hated hearing the story almost as much as he hated having to tell it.  
  
"Asshole," Erica murmured.  
  
"Once Rafe was gone, Melissa's reputation went to hell. Her marriage was deemed illegitimate, her son a bastard. It was, uh..." Stiles trailed off.  
  
"It was awful." Scott finished quietly. "Men used to show up at our door. Used to say horrible things to her. Call her horrible names. She was scared. Scared they were gonna..."  
  
He stopped talking, visibly pale, but everyone knew where he'd been going.  
  
"She had some friends in the castle. They smuggled us out, got us here. Technically it's treason- she abandoned her post or whatever. But no ones ever come looking. There's no posters." Stiles shrugged. That was the whole story.  
  
Erica and Isaac exchanged a weird look, one that did nothing to convince Stiles they weren't up to something. Because he was sure now, whatever was bothering Isaac, Erica was in on it.  
  
A cold ball of dread settled in Stiles' stomach as he considered he maybe shouldn't have told them.  
  
"You can't repeat this." Stiles said, irrationally. Like there was anyone Isaac and Erica knew who could really _use_ the information they'd just been given.  
  
Boyd grunted. "I don't like what you're implying about my girlfriend, Stiles."  
  
He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Erica put a hand on Boyd's arm.  
  
"It's ok, big guy. I get it."  
  
He looked at her for a moment, then nodded, going back to his stringy chicken and hard rice.  
  
Erica kept grinning at him though, until he turned back to her, eyebrow raised expectantly.  
  
"You called me your girlfriend," she beamed.  
  
Boyd rolled his eyes and kissed her forehead and that was that.  
  
\------------------

In the weeks after Scott's confession, Isaac only seemed _more_ unsettled. Which further unsettled Stiles.  
  
Erica, on the other hand, was so blissfully entangled in Boyd she was almost nice. Which _further_ unsettled Stiles.  
  
But he wasn't sure what he was supposed to _do_ about it until he heard the argument.  
  
He'd been doing his chores (actually doing them! Who would've thunk?) when he heard them whispering to each other in an old closet off the kitchens.  
  
"We won't do it," Isaac said simply. His voice was deeper than stiles expected.  
  
"We have to do it," Erica sighed, like they'd had this conversation before. "People get hurt if we don't."  
  
"People get hurt if we _do_."  
  
"We can't care about anyone here, Isaac."  
  
"Says the one with the boyfriend. What happens to Boyd when this whole thing is done?"  
  
"Boyd will be safe. He'll stay with us. They promised."  
  
"They promised he'd be safe or that he'd stay with us? Who ever promised _we'd_ be safe?"  
  
There was a pause. A sigh.  
  
"There are people who care about us here." Isaac said, voice sounding small. "We could have a family."  
  
"We _already_ have a family! And I'm trying to save them. Jesus, Isaac, what's gotten into you?"  
  
Stiles realized that, as much as he wanted to hear the end of this conversation, eventually they were going to come out of the closet and see him standing there with a broom like an idiot.  
  
He turned tail and ran, broom kicking up dust behind him.  
  
Interestingly enough, the sweeping was a chore Stiles had asked for. It was easy, busy work mostly, and it gave him a lot of time to think.  
  
After hearing Isaac and Erica's argument, Stiles did a lot of sweeping. A lot of thinking. He rolled it around from every angle he could, but he kept coming back to the same sickening conclusion.  
  
Isaac and Erica were here to hurt people.  
  
It sounded, at least, like they had some sort of reasoning. A family they were trying to protect which, Stiles understood. Family was everything. But they could've asked for help. They were friends, stiles thought. Could they have honestly believed no one would help them?  
  
Furious and sad, stiles tracked down Isaac, finding him in the kitchen, alone, doing the prep work for dinner.  
  
"Whatever it is you and Erica are up to," he started, and Isaac jumped, eyes flying to his, knife clattering onto the cutting board.  
  
"Whatever it is," Stiles tried again, gentler, "you don't have to do it. It's obvious you don't want to do it. And if you talk to us about it. And we'll help you."  
  
Isaac looked at him for a long while before his shoulders slumped miserably.  
  
"You can't help us," he said quietly.  
  
"How do you _know_ that, though? We're pretty resourceful." Stiles tried, hopeful. Isaac was talking to him, and that counted for something.  
  
"Can you get our parents out of jail, and return them to us safely? 'Cause Ennis and Kali can." Isaac says, shrugging.  
  
And Stiles had no idea who those people were, but it didn't really matter.  
  
"You have to _hurt_ someone," stiles pleaded.  
  
"Or they'll kill our parents." Isaac shot back, angry for just a moment, before looking defeated again.  
  
"I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to hurt anybody..."  
  
Stiles' stomach dropped.  
  
"Past tense?" He whispered.  
  
Isaac nodded miserably.

"Who? Isaac, who?! You have to...maybe I can...stop it!"  
  
"Madge," Isaac whispered.  
  
Stiles ran.  
  
\-------------  
  
Melissa was screaming.  
  
"No! No! No! No! Not like this. Not like this, just hold on. Hold on. Help!!!!"  
  
Stiles stumbled on a stair but kept running. Isaac was somewhere behind him, but Stiles didn't dare stop to look.  
  
When he reached Madge's bedroom, it was too late.  
  
She was on her bed, hand on her stomach, ring of blood still wet around her mouth. Her eyes were closed, red-gold hair splayed across her pillow. She looked young, peaceful.  
  
Stiles fainted.  
  
When he came to, Melissa was still on her knees beside the bed, coughing. Blood was splattering into her hands.  
  
"Melissa," he whimpered, voice hoarse, "no..."  
  
"Why did you eat it too?" He heard Isaac ask. Stiles wanted to punch him, wanted to wring his neck. Wanted to leave him covered in blood like Madge and Melissa.  
  
"Scott," Melissa coughed. "Get Scott."  
  
Isaac turned to go, but Stiles found his strength, pushing himself up the wall to block Isaac from leaving.  
  
"No. You stay. You look at what you _did_ ," he spat, before running down the stairs to get Scott.  
  
He found him in his bedroom, playing cards with Boyd.  
  
"Scott. Come with me. You," he said, pointing to Boyd, "find Erica, meet us in the attic."  
  
"The attic?" Scott repeated, standing. His eyes were wide and afraid.  
  
Stiles nodded and turned to go, knowing Scott would follow.  
  
Melissa was delirious when they returned.  
  
"Claudia..." She moaned, head turning from side to side, swear beading her brow.  
  
Scott was at her side in an instant. "Mom?" He said, voice going thick with tears. "Mom? What's wrong? What happened?"  
  
Scott's eyes scanned the room, saw Madge, and he started to sob.  
  
"She wasn't supposed to eat it. It was for Madge," Isaac said quietly.  
  
Scott made a noise between a sob and a roar, and moved to face Isaac, but Melissa clutched at him.  
  
"Scott. You have to get Stiles out of here before they come. You have to take him to the palace. He has to find the Hales and tell them the Rowan tree grows in the..."  
  
She started to cough, gurgling on the blood in her throat. Scott rolled her, and she coughed a red stain into Madge's old antique throw rug.  
  
"Scott..." She whimpered. And he nodded furiously, holding her.  
  
"Yeah, mom. I'm here. I'm here."  
  
Boyd and Erica skidded into the hallway, blocked from the room by Isaacs long arm and firm shake of head.  
  
"Get Stiles out. Don't lose him, no matter what. Find Talia Hale. Don't raise suspicion. Deucalion can't know. Only trust the Hales. The Rowan tree grows. The Rowan tree grows. The king returns."  
  
Stiles' heart broke. His whole life Melissa had been funny, lively and wise. To see her end this way, broken and bloody and spouting off nonsense...he turned to Scott. The young man's eyes were solely for his mother.  
  
"Claudia..." She whispered again, eyes gone glassy. "I wish it hadn't happened like this."  
  
And she died in her son's arms, eyes closed as if in sleep, rueful smile on her lips.  
  
Scott started to cry again. Fresh tears spilling down his face and into his mother’s hair. His body was racked with the sobs, until he was hunched over her, face buried in her hair.  
  
"We need to get help," Boyd muttered quietly.  
  
Stiles shook his head. "Not yet. There's some things you should know."  
  
"Me?" Boyd asked, and Stiles nodded, eyes sliding to Erica.  
  
"Tell him."  
  
"I..." Erica started, eyes glued to Scott and Melissa. " _She_ wasn't supposed to eat it," she said, and it sounded like she was begging.  
  
"Start from the beginning." Boyd said firmly.  
  
"Our parents are in jail. They were..." She chuckled lightly, "they always said they were performers. But they were con artists, I guess. They scammed the wrong people. Got locked up. I..." She stopped, glanced at Isaac. "We didn't know what to do. We knew how to run the scams but we were afraid...we just, we wanted our parents back. So I..." She took a deep breath.  
  
"I got all done up, in my mother’s corset and rouge. Isaac helped me curl my hair and I went down to the guards station to see if I could...convince them to let our parents out."  
  
Stiles was starting to feel sick again. Erica couldn't look at anyone. Her voice was starting to shake, her pale hands clasped tightly together, knuckles whitening. Isaac moved closer to her, she took another breath.  
  
"The guard, Ennis, he said, he said that if I did something for him, he'd do something for me so I...I let him...I let him have me and then...I thought it was done but then Kali came. Said there hadn't been anything in it for her. Said they didn't just go around releasing the Kings prisoners for a..." She stuttered, "for a cheap piece of ass and that what she really needed was a favor."  
  
Scott, who had slowly disentangled himself from his mother, was watching in earnest now, eyes big and sad.  
  
"They sent us here. Told us they needed the headmistress dead. And it didn't matter. We didn't know you. Didn't know Madge or Melissa. We just wanted our parents back and now..."  
  
She crumbled, face and body, racked with deep sobs.  
  
Isaac was there to catch her, shushing into her hair as Boyd watched, completely still.

There were two dead women in the room, the closest thing to mothers that Stiles had ever known.  
  
Erica, who he'd so easily branded a traitor, was just as scared as the rest of them. She'd been lied to and used and taken advantage of and...it was all so much more complicated than it had been a moment ago.  
  
"We need to get help," Boyd repeated, face blank.  
  
Scott stood. "You do that. I need to get Stiles out of here."  
  
"Where do you plan to take him?" Isaac asked.  
  
"To the castle, that's what my mother said," he spat back, voice hard.  
  
"Scott," Stiles hedged, "she wasn't exactly making a lot of sense..."  
  
"It's her dying wish, Stiles. Her dying wish was for me to get YOU out of here. To protect YOU."  
  
"She also said not to raise suspicion. You and Stiles disappear right before the headmistress and nurse are discovered dead? Suspicious. There'd be wanted posters all over town by morning."  
  
"And you have nowhere to go." Isaac added.  
  
"So what's your idea?!" Scott raged at the room at large.  
  
"I have to go," Erica whispered. "I have to report that we've been successful."  
  
Stiles opened his mouth, but Erica pinned him with still watery eyes. "Then a woman will come. A replacement for Madge. She'll kick people out. It's the plan. She'll claim the orphanage is overcrowded, and demand people leave. We can leave then. All of us."  
  
Isaac nodded. "And you can come live with us. We'll have our parents back. Our house. It's small, but there's space."  
  
"The festival is in two weeks. You could sneak Stiles into the castle then, unnoticed. We'll help you run the scam. It'll be easy with all of us."  
  
Erica sounded desperate, and it made things in Stiles _hurt_.  
   
"It's a good plan, Scott," he said quietly.  
  
"You mean it's the only plan." His best friend spat back, hurt and distrustful.  
  
Stiles nodded.  
  
"Fine," Scott said, and it was final.  
  
\------  
  
It was easy, too easy to huddle together and cry as the medics came and carted out the bodies. Easy for Stiles to explain that he'd just been sweeping and heard the coughing, had gone up to check and found them.  
  
The headmistress of a largely forgotten orphanage and her nurse dead of some bad pheasant. No one investigated, no one cared. It scraped deeply at Stiles that the assassination of some of the most important people in his life had gone off without a hitch.  
  
As Erica said, in two days time a beautiful, cold blonde came to Worthington's and called them all to order. With much practiced sympathy, she explained that there were just too many mouths to feed on the stipend the crown provided, but that they were blessed, as they'd only need to remove a few.  
  
Erica, Isaac, Scott, Stiles, and Boyd.  
  
They were given an hour to gather their belongings, a day's worth of food, and sent on their way.  
  
"How was it only us?" Scott asked as they trudged through the city.  
  
"I made arrangements," Erica said. Her mouth was a hard line, and she'd come back from reporting to Kali and Ennis with a bruise on her thigh. So no one asked what "making arrangements" meant.  
  
She and Boyd still weren't speaking.  
  
The house wasn't what they were expecting.  
  
It was large. No castle, but a large living area, sectioned off into a small kitchen, with a pretty wooden table to eat at. A hallway split off the back, implying there was more to it.  
  
Stiles felt momentarily ashamed, he'd assumed they were going somewhere ramshackle, that he'd be living in utter filth and poverty.  
  
As though reading his mind, Isaac turned to the group with a grin.  
  
"They were very successful con artists," he said, and Stiles nodded. He thought he heard Boyd scoff but he couldn't be sure.  
  
"Set your stuff down wherever," Isaac said then, just as Erica shouted out, "Mom? Dad?!"  
  
There was a fire rustling in the hearth, making the house warm. Two stunning blonde people hurried out of one of the back rooms, beaming.  
  
"Erica, Isaac," sighed a woman with Erica's flowing curls and Isaac's face. She opened her arms and the twins rushed into them.  
  
A tall, bulky man with close cropped hair and a sharp smile stood over them, arms crossed. Their father, stiles assumed. Which was interesting because he reminded Stiles a lot of Boyd.  
  
"We're done," their mother cried into their hair. "We'll go straight, I promise. We'll never commit another crime again."  
  
"I see you brought friends," their father tumbled out, and the twins disentangled themselves from their mother to look back at Scott, Stiles and Boyd.  
  
"Yeah." Erica sighed, "and you guys can't go straight just yet. We've got one last job."

\-------  
  
Isaac made rabbit stew, while his mother, Layla, clucked over him proudly.  
  
Their father Charles sat at the table with Scott, Stiles, and Erica, and everything was explained.  
  
"Well, I don't understand," Charles said, slowly, "but it seems as though my family owes you a great debt. One we'll never fully be able to repay. If all you need is access to the festival, well...we can do that. You'll need papers. I'll find Joel. And a carriage, and proper clothes." He ticked these things off on his hands.  
  
The Boys were quiet as the older man considered. Then he nodded, one hard jut of his chin, and rose from the table.  
  
"I'm off to make the arrangements," he said quickly, before sailing out of the door.  
  
_Interlude_ :  
  
Boyd found Erica on the roof, crying.  
  
He folded himself down next to her, but he didn't touch her, and she didn't meet his eyes.  
  
"Your parents are pretty great," he admitted with a nod.  
  
She nodded back. "Yeah."  
  
"I had a little sister once," he said, measured, and he saw her head turn out of the corner of his eye but he couldn't look at her. Not until he was finished.  
  
"Our parents died in the uprising. They weren't even on a side, just, wrong place, wrong time. My father tended horses. My mother made bread. They were simple people. I don't even know," he trailed off, less he digress.  
  
"My sister went to the girls orphanage, Helena's, on the far side down by the docks. And at first I had plans of running, breaking her out, maybe boarding a boat. I'm big, I've always been big, I could probably earn our passage.”

He quieted, staring out into the night, off to the harbor.

“What happened?” Erica said quietly.

“I met Scott, and Stiles, and you.” He shrugged. “I figured…I guess I figured she must’ve been having as good a time as me. That she’d made friends. Been comfortable. But then one market day I ran into one of the other girls from Helena’s. She told me that men had come in the night. Taken girls as they saw fit, then boarded a boat and vanished. Nobody’s seen Audrey in months.”

Erica gasped.

“She could be dead,” Boyd murmured, “Or she could be on a ship somewhere, wishing she were dead. Or she could’ve found some happiness along the way. The point is, I’ll never know.”

He took a deep breath. “I wanted to be like you. Thought I was like you, the type that would fight and die for my family. But I suppose I’m not. I suppose I’m the kind that just finds a new family. But I wish I wasn’t. And I’m glad you are. I’m glad you’re the type that fights. It’s what I love about you.”

Erica huffed out a breath that turned into a sob. “I’m not clean,” she hiccupped. “I’m _tainted_ and when I did it, I didn’t think it would matter. I didn’t think that anyone would care about whether a girl like me was a virgin or not. But then I met you. And I _want_ to be pure for you. I _want_ to.” She cried.

Boyd wrapped a strong arm around her and pulled her close.

“’You’re the purest thing I’ve ever known in my life.” He whispered into her hair.

They stayed tangled together that way until the sky turned deep purple just before dawn.

\--

The castle from afar always looked like a vision, a dream. It was always some unattainable thing for Stiles, it made a pretty picture but wasn’t worth thinking about too much.

Up close, it was easier to see how old it was, that it was crumbling in places. The crown was poor, Stiles knew. Many of the surrounding kingdoms refused to trade after the uprising, leaving Deucalion in quite the position. But he pretended not to care, and pretended well, hosting grand balls for no reason other than to pass the time.

And Stiles had been invited to one.

“Duke of Scenwater,” Erica had said, presenting him with a gilded invitation.

“A high enough station to warrant an invitation, but low enough that no one will pay you any mind,” her father had chimed in, chest bursting with pride.

“Is Scenwater even a real territory?” Stiles asked, afraid to put his hands on the envelope.

“No. well, yes. The river Scenwater divides our land from the southern lands from where Deucalion originally hails. He’s bound to have heard of it. There was a land holding there many, many years ago, but the land fell into disarray. There hasn’t been a duke in that seat in years. But there is technically a seat with that title. And it’s not as if Deucalion’s been paying his due diligent to every single landed nobleman since he’s been King. He hardly ever leaves the castle at all. You’ll be fine,” Charles boasted, still proud.

Stiles snatched the envelope from Erica just to set it down gingerly on the table.

“I don’t look like anyone’s Duke,” he said, “why can’t Scott be the guest and I be the carriage driver? He looks infinitely more noble than me.” Stiles whined.

Scott beamed at him. “Thanks bro.”

Layla tsked. “You’re better at sussing out an answer than Scott is, love.” She said, peeling potatoes at the other end of the table. “Scotts too liable to roll with whatever he’s given. You know how to spot a lie.”

Scott nodded his head along with this as well, smiling placidly.

“Fine,” he’d groused.

And now here he was, being helped out of his carriage by a footman wearing the royal colors, trying to hold himself at his full height after years of slouching.

A horn tooted as he stood at the top of a grand marble staircase, and the announcer shouted through a thin golden tube.

“His Majesty Alistair Chase, Grand Duke of Scenwater.”

Stiles heart stopped. He hadn’t known there’d be a grand announcement. He was supposed to be laying low.

But no heads turned. The announcer cleared his throat meaningfully, and Stiles scurried down the stairs, anxious to get lost in the fray.

He didn’t have much time to be lost, though. He was pushing through the crowd, trying to find the refreshments when his elbow was caught, and the crowd seemed to part in front of him.

Stiles looked first at the hand on him, then up, to the man it was attached to. He was wearing a lovely cream suit, with a blue pocket square and gold adornments. His pants were tight, as though we was meant to be riding. They must do wonderful things for his backside, Stiles thought, sort of absently, as he looked up at the man’s face.

It was…a face. Not terrible, though nothing that Stiles would have dreams about. His features were average, and his eyes could’ve been something to remark about, a deep, jewel toned blue, but they were flat. Devoid of any twinkle or mischief.

Stiles found himself bored before the man even opened his mouth.

“I’m Prince Matthew, welcome to my ball.” The man simpered, holding out a hand. There was a gawdy ring gracing the Prince’s finger, the same blue as his eyes. Stiles swallowed deeply before leaning down to kiss it.

As he leaned, he noticed the prince was wearing heeled shoes. He couldn’t be much taller than Stiles himself without them. He bit back a laugh.

“Pleasure to meet you, your Highness. I’m Alistair Chase. Duke of Scenwater.” Stiles said, voice sounding much more confident than he felt.

Matthew squinted for a moment, before nodding. “Ah, yes, Scenwater. To the south isn’t it?”

Stiles gulped and nodded, forcing a smile. “Ah, the Prince knows his geography.”

“There are terrible stories that the old king’s whore once lived there. Such a pall to have on one’s land.” Matthew replied, tone laced with pity.

Stiles shrugged. “I’m not at liberty to control the tongues of idiots, as unfortunate as it is.”

There was a beat of silence, in which Stiles was sure he’d said the wrong thing, put his foot in his mouth again, before the Prince was laughing.

The laugh echoed off the obnoxiously marbled halls and now heads _did_ turn, people were looking at who it was exactly that had caught the Prince’s fancy.

“Idiots!” Matthew laughed. “Yes, idiots all of them. Quite true. Come, let’s get some punch,” He said, hand tightening on Stiles’ elbow as he led him through the crowd once more.

They wandered out onto the terrace, away from the rush of the music and the din of the ball guests. Stiles, wary of the Prince's wandering hands, tried to put some distance between them, but Matt took his elbow and steered him down some winding steps, to a lower terrace, with a view of the garden.  
  
Against his own will, Stiles' breath was taken away. Before him was a beautiful tableau. There were lights in the trees, lending a beautiful blush to the roses and wildflowers the graced the green space. Statues rose, majestic, against the glittering night sky. A fountain bubbled off in the distance. If he looked hard enough, Stiles could see it, flowing water sparking like matches against the dying light.  
  
And far, far below, the city stretched out like so many jewels before them. Stiles had never seen it like this before, all far away and gorgeous. From up here, it seemed as though everything had meaning, purpose. That there may be more to life than dreaming and scraping to get by.  
  
"Now that I've got you alone," Prince Matthew simpered into his ear, and all the beauty welling up inside Stiles curdled.  
  
Just then, there was a shout from the upper terrace, and the Prince rolled his eyes and sighed.  
  
"My father, the King, requires my presence," he explained.  
  
"Don't you move," he demanded, taking Stiles' hand between his clammy ones. "I'll try to be back before you can miss me."  
  
Stiles forced a smile, held it on his face against its will until the Prince's back faded from his sight.  
  
He sighed, then, wondering how such beauty as this could exist near such a man as that.  
  
"He likes you," a voice said from the shadows.  
  
Stiles jumped, spinning, until he laid eyes on a palace guard, decked out in the kingdoms customary red and blue. As the man came closer, Stiles took in his firm jaw, covered in almost artful stubble, wind tousled hair, and eyes like glass, shifting with the light.  
  
He looked like something out of Erica's pirate tales.  
  
"You scared me half to death!" He laughed, slapping a hand over his still racing heart. "I wasn't expecting you to move, or speak. You always hear stories of immovable guards in the west. You know, the ones with the..." He made an implacable gesture with his hand, and realized he was rambling just as the pirate guard raised an impeccably arched eyebrow at him.  
  
"He likes you," the guard repeated.  
  
Stiles let one of his hands fall to rub the back of his neck.  
  
"Yeah," he sighed, looking back towards the doors where the prince had run off to, "it seems as though he does."  
  
"And you?" The guard asked, eyes going wary with suspicion as he joined Stiles at the terrace railing. "How do you feel?"  
  
Stiles stopped, looking out over the city once more, trying to collect himself. The question had taken him by surprise. How did he feel?  
  
"All of this..." He found himself saying, but he didn't have the words to continue.  
  
"Not what you expected?" The handsome stranger offered helpfully.  
  
"Gods, no," Stiles laughed, and he felt some of the tension Prince Matt left in his shoulders start to drain.  
  
"Nothing about tonight has been what I thought it would be," he mused to himself. The guard nodded sympathetically.  
  
"I do know one thing, though," Stiles continued. "I could possibly be in love with this garden. It's...miraculous. Is that even a word you can use for gardens? It's amazing here."  
  
The guard smiled, then dropped his head and tried to bite down on it. In the dim light of the trees, Stiles could see the tips of his ears turn red.  
  
He was stupidly endeared.  
  
"I'll be sure to tell my mother." The guard murmured after a while.  
  
Stiles' brow furrowed. "Your mother?"  
  
The guard tilted his head down over the lawn. "She designed the garden."  
  
"Oh!" Stiles said, looking at the garden again, now as the work of a person, and not just some majestic piece of nature. "Has she worked for the castle long?"  
  
"Her whole life," the guard nodded, "our family has always served at the pleasure of the King."  
  
Stiles nodded along with him, though his voice was tinged with something Stiles couldn't place.  
  
"Deucalion must be a most benevolent ruler, to inspire such loyalty." He responded.  
  
The guard’s eyes flew to his, wide and bewildered. " _Deucalion_ is--" he spat, before seeking to remember himself. He took a deep, steadying breath, hands clenching on the parapet in front of him. After a long while, he nodded.  
  
Stiles nodded too, though his face was hot. Deucalion had been king his whole life. He often forgot that he'd gained the title by forcibly removing the old king. The king this guard's family had committed to serving.  
  
"Are there a lot of families like that? Who've served the crown for so long?" Stiles asked, trying to keep his cool. This could be good. This could be his in.  
  
The guard’s thick eyebrows furrowed adorably. "A few," he murmured.  
  
And there was no way for Stiles to dig deeper there without seeming suspicious, so he just nodded again.  
  
The silence stretched out awkwardly between them. Off, deep, in the garden, a bird began to sing.  
  
"You look good," the guard blurted, then swore under his breath, shaking his head. "Here, I mean. It suits you. The garden." His ears went bright and hot again, and Stiles felt his heart start to melt.  
  
He wondered if this might be the magic people claimed to feel, when they found the one.  
  
"Thank you," he murmured quietly, knowing that his blush was high on his cheeks, and wishing for once he had hair to hide it, as the guard did.  
  
"Do you think," the older man said quietly, looking out at the city, "that you might return and visit our prince?"  
  
Stiles wrung his hands. Matt made him nervous. And the more he stayed here, the better the chances the king found out this whole thing was a massive sham, but he hadn't found the Hales yet, so he had to come back.  
  
"I suppose, if the Palace would have me, I could visit for tomorrow night’s festivities as well?"  
  
The guard bit down on a smile again. "I'm certain the palace will have you."  
  
The guard turned to walk away, and while Stiles was fairly certain they'd just agreed to see each other again in some sort of code, he found he needed more.  
  
"Hey," he called out after the disappearing guard, who turned immediately, eyes wide and curious.  
  
"What's your name?" Stiles asked, hopelessly charmed by the mysterious man.  
  
"Derek," the guard called back with a grin.  
  
"Derek," Stiles repeated, grin spreading across his face in return, "I'm Stiles."  
  
Derek's nose wrinkled. "What on earth is a Stiles?"  
  
Stiles laughed, went to defend himself when he heard footsteps behind him.  
  
"Something funny, my sweet?" The prince said, gliding down the terrace steps.  
  
"I was just," Stiles turned to where Derek had been standing, only to find him gone.  
  
"I was just thinking of something funny a friend told me," Stiles saved.  
  
"I like to laugh," Matt whined, obviously expecting a story.  
  
Fighting a sigh, Stiles gave him one- a raucous tale of he and Scott's antics as young boys- all the while wondering exactly what he was getting himself into.  
  
\----------------

The following night, Stiles ducked out to the gardens before Duecalion and Matthew had even been announced. He had never expected to attract the attention of the Prince, and it made his original mission much harder to accomplish. He sighed, looking around for Derek. He needed to talk about families that served the crown.

But the air felt good against his skin, overhot from the mass of bodies inside and the still strange feeling of thick cloth over his skin.

“You came back,” he heard, from out of nowhere.

Spinning, he saw Derek sauntering up behind him.

“How do you do that?” He asked with a smile on his face.

“Do what?” Derek asked, returning his smile.

“Just appear from the shadows like that. It’s terrifying, but rather impressive really.”

“Trade secret,” Derek replied, holding out his hand.

“Come with me? There’s something I’d like to show you.”

Stiles hesitated. This is what he needed, to get Derek alone so they could speak freely, somewhere he didn’t have to worry about Prince Matthew’s attentions. But this seemed…forward.

Derek noticed his hesitation. ‘Nothing untoward, I swear. It’s just that I…I see that you enjoy gardens and well, the castle is large. There are more of them than just this one. Some hidden, that it would take a while to find if you weren’t close with the designer,” he smiled nervously.

Utterly charmed, Stiles took his hand, and let himself be led down the stairs and around the side of the castle.

Once they’d gotten far enough away that they could no longer hear the noise of the festival, Derek let go of his hand in favor of linking their elbows together.

“So, what brought you to the festival?” Derek asked easily, and Stiles stuttered. They’d come up with a backstory, obviously, but he didn’t want to lie to Derek.

“I’ve never been to a royal affair before. I was curious as to how this lot live.”

“This lot?” Derek said, arching an eyebrow. “your garments suggest you aren’t so far off from this lot. And that you got an invitation in the first place.”

Stiles flushed, but nodded. ‘I’ve, uh…only recently achieved this station. It’s all very new to me.”

Derek nodded seriously. He veered off, a small smile playing at his mouth. They crossed under some gorgeous, flowering arches before coming upon another garden, this one with a small, perfectly round lake in the center, surrounded by a sandy shore.

The moon was high, and reflected perfectly against the water, lighting the area with an almost magical glow.

“Oh, Derek,” stiles found himself saying, as he took in the scene before him. “This place is perfect. It’s so perfect.”

Derek’s smile grew, broadening into something truly breathtaking. “My mother calls it the Moonlight Garden. It was designed as a wedding present for the old king, John.”

Stiles frowned. “I hadn’t known he’d been married.” He murmured.

“He hadn’t. They’d just been betrothed when the uprising occurred. No one has seen or heard from his intended since. Rumor is that she was killed.”

Derek led him to a bench, and they sat together, quietly at first, looking out over the water, before Derek spoke.

“I’m really glad you came back.” He sighed. Stiles smiled brilliantly. “I’m really glad I came back too. This is…this is really great.”

“The garden or the company?” Derek asked, a flush pinking his cheeks.

“Both,” Stiles grinned. “Definitely both.”

“May I?” Derek started, then dropped his eyes. “I know I promised nothing untoward, but may I kiss you? Please? Your mouth…” his eyes fell on Stiles lips, going dark and hot for a moment, before he shook his head.

Stiles shivered. He’d never been kissed before. “I don’t,” he stumbled over the words, “I don’t have very much experience, with kissing..”

Derek smiled at him again. “That’s alright. I mean, if it’s alright with you. I could…teach you? Show you how, if you’d like?”

And Stiles found himself nodding furiously.

Derek chuckled, but moved in slowly. He gave Stiles plenty of time to change his mind and when he didn’t, Derek sighed. He let his eyes flutter closed and pressed his lips against Stiles’.

It was nothing, just the firm press of lips against lips at first, but then Stiles sighed into it, hand coming up to cup Derek’s cheek.

Their tongues brushed together, and all the sudden Stiles was on fire. Derek’s tongue slid across his, lighting things up in Stiles he hadn’t known where there before.

He pressed himself closer, pouring everything he had into the kiss. Derek made a frustrated sound, hands dropping from Stiles’ face to settle at his hips, tugging.

And Stiles went freely, crawling into the older man’s lap with gusto, tongue still searching his mouth.

Hands still snug on Stiles’ hips, Derek rolled up, and Stiles’ gasped when he felt Derek’s erection bump up against him.

“Oh!” He said, scurrying backwards. He fell, butt hitting the soft sand around the lake, and stood quickly, brushing himself off.

Derek’s mouth was still open, lips still red. His eyes were glassy for a moment, then he blinked and they sharpened again. He jumped up.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Stiles I’m so…I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

“No, it’s not…I’m just not…I don’t think I’m ready for..”

“Of _course_ you’re not! You shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t have…”

“I think I’m just going to go. I’m sorry, I…goodnight!”

Stiles ran, flat out ran out of the garden, taking the long away around the ball out to the stairs, where he had a footman fetch his carriage.

He deflated in the backseat once he’d gotten it. They got out of the castle without much incident, and Scott pulled the horse over at the first opportunity.

“What the hell dude?” He asked stiles, but the younger man just shook his head.

They didn’t speak the rest of the way back to the Lahey’s.

\-----

“We didn’t throw this whole thing together for you to flirt with your palace guard boyfriend, Stiles!” Erica raged.

Stiles stood in the middle of their living room, with his arms crossed.

“Are you any closer to finding the Hales? Do you know _anything_ more than you knew before?”

“I know that the old king was betrothed before the uprising, that his intended disappeared. She might be a lead.”

Erica’s father perked up at that. “I know someone who helped a lot of people disappear after the uprising. I’ll look into it. Get as much information as you can on that, Stiles.”

The younger man nodded and, just like that, it seemed Erica was mollified.

“There’s only one more night left of this festival,” she said, tone kinder now. “You have to make it count, Stiles. For Melissa.”

Stiles nodded quickly, and she was right, he knew it. But he still felt the pleasant pressure of Derek’s mouth against his own, and he knew, if given the chance, that he’d do it all over again.

When Stiles returned to the palace the next night, he saw Derek even before the prince. He was incredibly dashing in black trousers with a white shirt and a black overcoat. His hair was disheveled as usual.  
  
He was also hovering near the punch bowl, face pinched. And he physically flinched every time someone tried to speak to him.  
  
Stiles desperately wanted to touch his face.  
  
Instead, he strode over, hoping to get some time with Derek before Matthew inevitably found him.  
  
"You look like you're having so much fun," he said, as he approached the older man.  
  
When Derek set his eyes on Stiles, he broke out into a smile.  
  
"Stiles," he said, beaming. "You came back.”

Stiles nodded shyly. Derek just kept beaming at him.

“There's someone I want you to meet." He grabbed Stiles' hand and dragged him through the crowds.  
  
They eventually came upon a beautiful woman, draped in a lovely green gown, standing in a circle with two other beautiful women. Upon seeing Derek with Stiles, she excused herself, coming to stand with them, slightly apart from the others.  
  
"Mother, this is Stiles, the one I was telling you about," Derek said, and Stiles felt himself flush.  
  
"Stiles, this is my mother, Talia Hale, she designed the garden you enjoyed so much."  
  
Stiles' smile fell as he looked upon the woman, Dereks mother, Talia Hale.  
  
"You...the gardens are lovely. You have a gift. You're, you're Talia Hale? I have a message for you." He rambled.  
  
Talia's face remained politely interested, though he felt Derek stiffen beside him.  
  
He took a deep breath.  
  
"I'm supposed to tell you that a Rowan tree grows." He blurted out.  
  
A dizzying range of emotions flew over Talia's face. It settled into something unreadable.  
  
"A Rowan tree is a quite rare thing. Wherever did you find it?" She said, idly looking around the ballroom.  
  
It was code, Stiles knew, but Melissa hadn't had time to tell him what he was supposed to say now. He floundered, eyes filling with tears.  
  
"I don't know," he said, voice soft as not to waver. "She didn't get a chance to tell me. I don't know."  
  
Now Talia's face was a mask of concern. "What's happened to her? Where's Melissa?" She whispered fiercely.  
  
Before he could answer, one of the woman she'd been standing with before called out.  
  
"Talia, darling, Victoria and I were wondering about what flowers to plant for spring. You know I'm hopeless at anything involving dirt. Do you have any ideas?"  
  
Talia glanced back with a smile. "Of course, Natalie. I'll be right there."  
  
The woman nodded and returned to her drink.  
  
"Get him to our rooms. Now," she shot at Derek.  
  
"He's a favorite of the Prince. His absence will be noted." Derek responded, still stiff beside Stiles.  
  
Talia sighed. "Get Peter. He'll know what to do."  
  
Her eyes slid to Stiles.  
  
"I'm very sorry for what must happen next. We'll talk later."  
  
Then she returned to the other ball guests, launching into something complicated about perennials that Stiles couldn't follow.  
  
When he turned to look for Derek, he found him also disappeared. He huffed out his displeasure, returning to the punch bowl.  
  
Before he could lift the ladle toward his cup, he was interrupted by a tall man with piercing blue eyes, already holding to cups of punch.  
  
"Stiles," he said. Not a question, but the young boy nodded anyway.  
  
"What a ridiculous name," the man murmured, mostly to himself.  
  
"His Highness the Prince requests your presence." The man continued.  
  
Stiles nodded again, and followed as he was led through the crowd once more.  
  
Matthew was pouting when they came upon him.  
  
"Ah, Peter! I see you've brought me some company. And some drink!" He exclaimed.  
  
Stiles tried to control how quickly he turned to look at Peter, eyes wide.  
  
The older man just nodded, smiling, and handed Stiles his punch.  
  
Matt waved in his general direction, and Peter melted back into the crowd.  
  
It was tedious after that, the boring work of entertaining the prince with stories of his childhood, and coddling the young man's ego. He found himself distracted, knowing that something was going to happen eventually and just not knowing what.  
  
It hit him just as he'd finished his cup of punch, and unbearable dizziness, accompanied by nausea. He went hot, tried to tug his clammy hand out of Matt's.  
  
The Prince’s brow furrowed in displeasure.  
  
Stiles managed a weak, "I don't feel so..." Before throwing up all over the princes shoes and promptly passing out.  
  
\--------------  
  
When he came to, he was in a bed in a dark room. A damp cloth was being pressed to his head by a beautiful girl in a simple brown shift.  
  
"He's awake," she called out, and he winced at the sound, realizing only then that his head was pounding.  
  
Talia came in first holding a bowl of soup, followed by Derek, and another woman who must be Derek’s sister by the resemblance. A last man trailed in behind them, dangerous looking with light eyes and a scowl. He was obviously Derek’s father.  
  
"Stiles," Talia said softly, sitting next to him on the other side of the bed. "Can you sit up?"  
  
He struggled to do so, squinting against the candlelight. As he moved, his stomach started to roil again.  
  
"This is my family. You know Derek, his twin sister, Laura. Cora was looking after you while you slept. This is my husband, Colin. And Peter, my brother, is around here somewhere. You met him earlier."  
  
"What's happened to me?" He croaked, the sound of his own voice akin to a hammer banging against his skull.  
  
"I had you drugged," Talia said, apologetic. "You’ll feel much better after you eat, if you feel up to it. We also have some tea that should help your head."  
  
"Why?" He whined, eyeing the soup. It looked good, but he stomach gurgled even considering it.  
  
"We had to get you out of the ball and back here without raising any suspicion." Talia explained gently.  
  
"It wasn't suspicious when you all left to come back here?" Stiles asked, eyeing the tea.  
  
She held it out to him.  
  
"You were out for quite some time. The ball’s been over for hours."  
  
At that, stiles tried valiantly to stand, almost knocking Talia over in the process.  
  
He stumbled, but before he fell Derek was there, with his arms out to steady him.  
  
"Scott," Stiles moaned.  
  
Talia’s head snapped up. "Melissa's son?"  
  
The boy nodded weakly. "He’s posing as my carriage driver."  
  
"Colin," Talia snapped, and the dangerous looking man left the room in a hurry.  
  
Derek helped get him settled in bed again, fixing him a weak smile.  
  
Talia handed him the tea, and he took a long sip.  
  
"What's happened to Melissa?" Talia asked again.  
  
"She's dead," Stiles said, and felt a different kind of sickness well up in his chest. "Poisoned," he spat. And Talia had the grace to look guilty.  
  
"She was assassinated?" The older girl, Laura asked.  
  
Stiles shook his head, groaning against the pain of it. "No. It was an accident. It was meant for Madge."  
  
Several brows furrowed.  
  
"Who's Madge?" Derek asked quietly.  
  
"Headmistress of my orphanage. Worthington's." Stiles said. The pain in his head was starting to ease, and he looked at the soup again.  
  
"Claudia," Talia said, then placed a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wet, but she didn't cry.  
  
"They've killed Claudia?" She repeated after a moment.  
  
"But what of her son? What of Stanislaw? You said the Rowan tree grows."  
  
"I don't know. I never knew Madge to have a son. I don't know who Claudia is. I don't know anything." Stiles cried, frustrated.   
  
"Then why were you sent?" A new voice chimed in, and Stiles looked up to see Peter had arrived, propped up against the doorjamb.  
  
"I don't know, "Stiles repeated. "Melissa said it had to be me. That I had to go to the castle, find the Hales, tell Talia that the Rowan tree grew, not raise any suspicion. I don’t know why, alright? I don’t. But she was like a mother to me and she was dying and she was scared. She was scared for _me_ and we just…we just did what a dying woman asked."  
  
The whole room went silent. Stiles watched warily, wondering what he'd said.  
  
Talia shook her head. "There must be a piece missing. This doesn't make any sense,"  
  
Peter snorted. "It rather does. Tal, stop fussing at the boy and _look_ at him."  
  
And she did, for the first time, she really looked at him.  
  
Her face softened.  
  
"Oh, love." She sighed. "And you have no idea."  
  
She patted his face.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
She shook her head. "Eat your soup, Stiles. We'll talk about it in the morning. You'll feel better then."  
  
"The Prince won't come looking for me?" Stiles asked, nervous, as he took a swallow of lukewarm soup.  
  
"Not likely," Peter responded, "he’s not a big fan of vomit." The older man grinned.  
  
Stiles flushed with mortification.  
  
"And Scott?"  
  
"We'll have him sent up to you as soon as he gets back." Talia said, as she started ushering her family from the room.  
  
"Eat your soup, Stiles. Feel better. You must be strong for what's next." Talia told him with a soft smile.  
  
"Then maybe you shouldn't have poisoned me." He retorted.  
  
Her smile only grew. "If I'd known then what I know now, I wouldn't have dared. Goodnight."  
  
Stiles stared at the door long after she'd closed it. Long after he'd finished his soup. Long after Scott walked in and said, "dude, crazy night." Before passing out next to him on the bed.  
  
He stared at the door until his eyes closed against his will, and worried about what came next.

\--

He didn’t sleep well.

It was soothing, listening to Scott snore beside him. Enough to help him drift off a few times, only to jolt awake moments later, heart beating too fast.

So it was a blessing when he heard rustling in the room beyond his. Pulling back the covers, he shuffled out of bed, careful of Scott’s drooling form. The hard wood floors were cold under his feet as he snuck out of the room.

He walked into a living area bathed in the pale blue light of morning. Derek was knelt in front of the fire, coaxing it back to life. Stiles sighed at the sight of him, eyes still squinting with sleep, hair mussed.

“Hi,” Stiles breathed.

Derek’s eyes came up to meet his, and his lips twitched up in a small smile.

“Hi,” he smiled back, voice quiet.

He rose, abandoning the fire to walk over to Stiles. His fingers twitched once at his sides.

“Did you not sleep?” Derek whispered, brow furrowing in concern.

Stiles shook his head. “Not much. “

Derek gave in then, stepping into Stiles’ space. He curled one hand around the younger man’s hip, let his other hand stroke down the side of Stiles’ face.

Stiles deflated, collapsing into the other man, pressing his face deep into Derek’s neck. The older man stroked his back, shushing into his hair.

“Der,” came a female voice from behind him. Derek froze, and then his hands fell from Stiles body, and he took a step back.

Stiles turned slowly, saw the twin, Laura, leaning out of a bedroom doorway, robe clutched to her neck. Her eyes were wide, a mixture of anger and disbelief swimming in them. She looked scandalized, and Stiles was suddenly furious.

“Ok,” he said slowly, looking back and forth between the siblings, “I think it’s time someone told me what was going on.”

“Indeed,” Peter chimed in, stepping out from a hallway Stiles hadn’t even seen.

He gasped and flailed backwards, and Derek’s hands went out to steady him, but he pulled them back, left them clenching into fists at his sides.

Stiles regained his footing on his own.

“Take a seat, please, Young Master Stiles,” Peter smiled, saccharine and terrifying, “I’ll wake my sister.”

“And Scott,” Stiles tacked on.

“Ah yes, your young squire, of course.”

“He’s not…he’s just my friend.”

Peter snorted.

“Leave him alone,” Derek snapped.

 “What’s it to _you?_ ” Laura hissed back.

Stiles’ head started to hurt. He lowered himself into the chair by the fire.

“Scott. Now.” There was silence in the room.

“Please?” He tried, voice sounding small even to his own ears.

Laura scoffed and went back into her bedroom, door shutting firmly behind her.

Scott came spilling out into the room a moment later, and Stiles calmed with his presence.

Talia Hale came out a moment later, regal in a long white robe, hair in a long braid down her back.

“Fetch the girls,” she said, to the room at large, and Peter dutifully went to rap on the same door Laura had just closed.

Soon, the whole family was gathered in the room. With exception of Derek, who could meet no one’s eyes, and Scott, who was positioned at Stiles knees, between him and the rest of the Hale Family, all eyes were on Stiles.

“What do you know of your mother?” Talia began.

“I’m an orphan,” Stiles tried explaining, slowly, “I don’t know anything about either of my parents.”

“You have to know something,” Colin said, peeling an apple with a knife.

“Why…I’m an orphan. I grew up in an orphanage. What makes you think I know anything?” He asked.

“Well, your invitation, obviously.”

“My invitation?” Stiles asked. “I…it’s a fake. I got it through…a friend of a friend,” he said, hesitant to give out the Lahey’s names.

“What’s on his invitation?” Peter asked.

“He’s listed as the Grand Duke of Scenwater.” There were gasps through the room. But Colin’s eyes remained steady on his. “And it’s a very real invitation.”  

“I still don’t—“

“Well that’s just…” Peter said, cutting Stiles off. And then the man laughed. Talia turned her head to him quickly, eyes narrowing.

“What did you do?”

“I…well, I was feeling nostalgic, I’ll say. I had the invitation drawn up myself. I figured it would rankle a bit, at old Duke, that he’d never found her. He approved it. Signed off without even reading over the name. So when the need for a legitimate invitation to the ball arose, I provided it. It obviously never occurred to me that _he_ ’d get it.”

“Too many coincidences,” Colin muttered.

“How _do_ you know Charles Lahey?” Peter asked, eyes narrowing.

“I’m…we’re staying with him. We got kicked out of the orphanage.” Scott said.

“Can we,” Stiles squeaked. “Can we maybe start at the beginning?”

Talia sighs. “The  beginning is an interesting place. This is all very…political, Stiles, and I’m sorry that you’re caught up in it. I guess the most important thing is that you were never an orphan. Claudia…Madge, she was your mother.”

Stiles tongue caught in his throat.

“And your father was King. Jonathan Rowan Stilinski. The Rowan tree is the King’s family crest. Your mother, when you were born, named you Stanislaw Rowan Stilinski. The Rowan tree is you.” She said.

“I….” Stiles started.

“It will be hard to prove. As they were never married…” Peter mused.

“They were married,” Colin put in, “she was just never crowned. John was many things, but not stupid. Duecalion’s spies were already in his court when he married Claudia. He’d never have painted a target on her that way.”

“I never knew that…” Laura muttered.

“ _No_ one knew that.” Talia said firmly, “As was the point. The people who had her killed probably didn’t even know they were truly man and wife. Just that she was his intended at that it was rumored there was a child.”

“You’ll need his papers.” Peter continued.

“We have them. Stiles was born here, under Duecalion’s very nose. His papers are stamped with the new king’s crest.”

“I don’t…my dad was the king?”Stiles whispered.

“I told you she looked like you.” Scott said, nudging him. His chest was swelled a little with pride.

Stiles couldn’t speak.

“They were married?” He said quietly, and Talia nodded.

“I’m the…King?”

“Yes.”

“The King,” he said again, mouth forming carefully around the words.

“Yes.”

“So….what do we do now?”

Talia sighed again. “We get you out of the city. Immediately. Arrangements must be made and we can’t risk you being discovered.”

“Well I don’t…I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Of course you do, dear. Haven’t you been listening? The title of King, we’ll have to fight for, but you’re easily the Grand Duke of Scenwater.”

“I…I thought Scenwater was taken?”

“Scenwater _was_ taken, before the West became Deucalion’s domain. Now it’s just an empty manor on the river. We’ll hide you there, while we make arrangements here.”

He was sick of that word, arrangements.

“What kind of arrangements?”

“We’ll need to raise you an army. Find your allies. Maybe even put together a political marriage. It won’t be hard to do.”

“Marriage?!” Stiles squeaked.

“We’ll save that for last, dear, obviously no one wants to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

“Except for ruling a nation.”

“Yes. Except that.”

“My friends have to come with me.”

Talia stopped, looking back at him from where she’d been whispering with Colin. “What?”

“My friends. Scott and Boyd and Erica and Isaac. Maybe even their parents, Layla and Charles.”

“Stiles, the less people who know about this the better, you understand.”

“Well they already know. Some of it, at least. They know that I’m here and they know I’m looking for you and they know about the Rowan Tree. They helped me get in here.”

“Charles Lahey, for a con artist, is a startling good man. Especially to children. He and his wife would make good companions.”

Talia scoffed. “For obvious reasons we can’t send a con artist to accompany the King to his family home.”

“Hey, if it wasn’t for the con artist I wouldn’t even be here.” Stiles snapped. And Talia turned to look at him, eyes widening.

After a moment, she nodded.

“Of course. I didn’t mean any offense. It’s just…are you sure you can trust them?”

Scott eyed him seriously. Stiles thought about Erica, about the lies. Isaac and the poison. Thought about the bruise on Erica’s thigh.

“Yes. I trust them with my life.” He nodded. And Scott sighed.

“Well alright then.” Talia said. ‘It’ll be harder to get so many of you out of the city, but it can be done. I’m sure between Peter and your friends Charles and Layla, the impossible will be done, won’t it?” There was a false cheer in her voice that made Stiles nervous, but he bobbed his head along anyway.

“And I was thinking I’d send Laura along with you,” she tacked on, like an after thought. “I’d like for you two to start getting to know each other, just in case that political marriage becomes necessary.” Talia said. Then she turned back to Colin, and continued speaking in low tones.

Stiles stared for a moment. He glanced down at Scott, who had turned at some point during the conversation, and was facing Stiles now. His eyes were wide and unsure, but when they met Stiles’, his mouth turned to a firm line and he tilted his head towards Derek.

Derek, who was sitting between Stiles and the fire, face red and eyes lowered.

“Um,” Stiles squeaked, still looking at Derek.

Talia and Colin’s heads turned back toward him, and Talia was smiling patiently.

“What if,” Stiles stuttered, “and I don’t mean any offense,” he glanced at Laura, who’s eyes were trained on Derek, “I…I mean, what if I don’t want to marry Laura?” he asked, and then braced himself for the storm.

But Talia just sighed.

“Arranged marriages are very rarely what anyone _wants_ , Stiles,” she said, keeping her voice light and patient, “but the Hales are the Royal family in the East, and Laura’s been trained politically, she’ll be able to help you through this.”

Stiles fought against a groan, because of course Talia would misunderstand. Of course she would make him spill it out here in front of everyone.

“It’s not marriage he’s against, mother,” Laura’s voice cut through the tense silence in the room. “It’s me. Stiles would prefer to wed Derek.”

“Oh!” Talia said, shocked. Colin’s eyes were darting back and forth between Stiles and Derek, assessing.

“Oh,” Talia said again, “Dear.” She looked at Derek, who couldn’t meet her eyes. Couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

“It’s political, Stiles, you understand,” Talia said slowly, wringing her hands. “Your reign will be unstable, at first, until you make strong allies, and produce an heir. Those two things need to happen quickly. The Hales, you understand, are the strongest political allies you can have. And, by marrying Laura, you ensure that you’re able to produce an heir. It’s about stability, you see. If you were to marry Derek, an opposing party could just kill you and take claim to the throne. It’s…its exactly what they did to your father. Do you understand?”

Stiles nodded, defeat etched into his features.

“There are options,” Colin said quietly.

“Plenty of them,” Peter agreed, nodding.

“We have to do this the _right_ way,” Talia hissed. “If we’d done it right in the first place, none of us would be here.”

“Exactly,” Colin agreed amiably, “I rather like where we are.”

“You’re being flippant and this isn’t the time,” Talia replied, voice tight.

“Flippant?” Colin asked, and he came around from behind the chair where she’d been sitting, so that he could look at her.

“We married for love, and I don’t regret it.” He said gently, hand coming up to cup her cheek.

She pulled away from him. “We married for love and people _died_ , Colin!”

“So if you could do it again?” He challenged.

Talia didn’t answer. Instead, she looked over at Stiles. Her eyes were sad when she spoke.

“I’m going to do everything in my power to end this without a marriage. But should one become necessary, Laura is your most viable option.”

With that, she swept from the room, and most of the Hale family cleared out behind her. Derek stayed, and Laura.

“I don’t get it,” Scott said into the silence, and Laura scoffed.

“Of course you don’t, you’re an orphan.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Stiles growled at her.

“What, like you’re any better?”

“I’m the King,” Stiles tried.

“And I’m your queen.” Laura responded easily.

“Not until he marries you,” Derek spoke up, for the first time since that morning.

“He hasn’t even been announced yet. He’s the rightful heir to the throne, sure. But you’re nothing.”

“Nothing?!” Laura shouted, face gone red, “I’m…” she stopped short. Derek laughed at her, short and mirthless.

“Exactly. For all your training, and even your royal blood, you’re still just Laura Hale. You’re a hostage, just like the rest of us.” Derek said, soft, like he hadn’t meant to hurt her.

“Hostage?” Stiles said slowly, “Royal blood?”

Derek huffed. “You know the Eastern Kingdom?”

Stiles didn’t. It was Scott who nodded.

“Yeah. This used to be theirs, right? They give it to some guy who helped them win the war.”

Laura nodded.

“David Rowan Stilinski. Stiles’ grandfather.”

“My, what?” Stiles asked.

“David Stilinski was from the south. He was a general for Deucalion, but he turned against him during the war. In return, Aunt Tessa and Uncle Mark gave him a piece of their Western lands. It became this Kingdom.”

“Aunt Tessa,”  Scott repeated.

“Royal blood. Your uncle is the king of the East.” Stiles said, flexing his fingers. They were going numb. His whole body was going numb. This was too much.

Laura just nodded again. “Mom was supposed to marry David. For a political alliance. But she didn’t want to, David was a lot older than her.”

“And she fell in love with Dad,” Derek through in.

Laura sighed. “And she fell in love with Dad. He was the younger brother of David’s second in command. So David had them married instead.”

“And when Deucalion came, he cut off John’s head, and he sent word to Tessa that he’d kill every Hale he could find if she sent so much as a single troop in.” Derek said, voice flat, as if he were repeating from memory.

“She almost did it anyway. Mom urged her against it. She was confident. She knew about you.” Laura said, looking at Stiles for the first time since they’d started their story.

Stiles’ legs were starting to tingle. He’d heard the the old king had been decapitated in his throne room. He’d known that his whole life. But now, knowing it was his father, he thought me might throw up.

Scott’s hand wrapped firm around his ankle, grounding him. Derek rose to his knees, eyes filled with worry as they met Scott’s.

“Stiles?” He asked, gripping the younger man’s knee. “Are you okay?”

“Stop touching me,” Stiles choked out, standing quickly, almost stepping on Scott.

“I can’t marry your sister if you keep touching me.”

He hurried from the room back into the room they’d slept in, and Scott followed dutifully behind him, shutting the door. The sounds of Derek and Laura talking could still be heard if one were to listen close enough, but Stiles didn’t listen. He didn’t want to know.

Stiles tried to sleep, but mostly just ended up staring at the ceiling, while Scott told him about some dark haired Duchess he’d met the night before.

Later, there was a light knock on the door, and then Laura pushed it open.

Both boys stared at her. She’d pulled her hair up, piled it atop her head. She looked older, more like her mother when she spoke,

“I’m sorry,” she said evenly, “for treating you two like you were ignorant. And for, just, being generally awful. It’s just, we could all die for helping you. And that’s not, I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I’m just…I’m doing this wrong again, aren’t I?”

Stiles stared at her for a long moment before nodding. “You’re forgiven. Now come in, shut the door. I have questions.”

\--

(Derek)

He was frustrated. Understandably frustrated. There was finally someone in his life that he wanted. Something he wanted to keep for the first time since Kate. Stiles was smart and funny and passionate and…

King, apparently.

Also, intended for his sister. To wed and make babies with his sister.

Such was his life.

So it was perfectly understandable that Derek was frustrated when he banged back into their suites that evening.

And, of course, when Laura tsked at him and said, “That’s no way for a future king to behave, Derek,”

It was _understandable_ that he’d growl at her.

But when he turned to look, he was stopped short.

Stiles, Laura and Peter were all gathered in the living room, along with Lydia Martin.

Stiles was grinning like an idiot, and Derek was smiling back at him before Laura’s words caught up.

“A future what?”

“King!” Stiles repeated cheerfully, “We’re gonna be kings!”

“What about…you need an heir.”

“That’s where I come in,” Lydia spoke up.

“I don’t…I need to…” Derek sunk down into a chair near the fire. The very same one Stiles had sat in that morning.

“Peter and you father, this morning they said we had options. I was curious, so I asked around,” Stiles said, his face a mask of innocence.

“He technically could’ve married me, had a child, then divorced me and married you. But that might have been scandalous, considering we’re siblings. And might have raised questions about you two being together the whole time. Now, normally, no one care about the king having an affair, but mother is obsessed with Stiles’ reign being above reproach.”

“So Peter suggested I take a consort.”

“A consort?!” Derek exploded. “What about a consort is above reproach?”

Peter chuckled, but Lydia cleared her throat rather primly.

“In the case of a barren wife, it is perfectly acceptable for the king to take a consort. The shame is attached to the barren wife, which is ridiculous. As if a woman has any control over her body that way.” She ranted.

“In any event, in the case of two Kings, obviously neither of you would be able to carry a child. The idea of a consort is perfectly above reproach. It helps that your consort is heir to one of the most respected families in the north.”

And it was true. The Martin’s were feared from the West Bay to the dingy eastern pirate rat holes Derek heard about in stories. Natalie drove a hard bargain in all of her foreign trade, she provided all of Tessa’s silks personally. And Lydia had obviously learned her mother’s sharpness.

Which made Derek wonder.

‘What’s in it for you?” He asked, eyes narrowing.

Lydia laughed at him. Peter chuckled a little as well.

“My child would be heir to the throne. I can’t imagine needing any more than that. A royal Martin? I suppose it’s as close to the throne as my family’s going to get.”

“He’d be a Stilinski,” Laura pointed out, but Lydia just waved a hand.

“Or she,” she responded, “but it wouldn’t matter either way. You know how people talk. In royal, and even political circles, the heir will be a Stilinski. But in the trade world? A Martin child is a Martin child.”

Her intentions were selfish, and somehow, that made Derek feel better. If she’d said something altruistic, something about true love or other such nonsense, he never would’ve bought it. But a martin doing something for no reason other than furthering the Martin name, that rang true.

“How do you plan on convincing mother?” Derek asked.

“Oh, we don’t.” Peter said, “But I’ve written Tessa. And I imagine Natalie Martin will mention it on their next visit, both of us asking the same small favor. If this is the only way to get a Stilinski to marry a Hale, I’m certain my sister will be behind it. And if Tessa tells Talia something’s to be done, well…it’ll be done.”

“So…it’s finished?” Derek asked, and Peter chuckled.

“Well, there’s still the small matter of getting the boy on the throne, but as far as negotiations for marriage, yes. It’s finished.”

Derek looked at Stiles, who was beaming.

“You’re brilliant.” He breathed, and Stiles nodded.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's the thing: this is kind of open ended? Like, there's totally the possibility for more here. Originally, there was going to be more, like, a lot more, which is why it took me so long to post it, I've been working on this for a year easily. But I kinda just wanted to post something? Like, I just wanted to start the year off with something. 
> 
> I will leave it to you guys to decide whether or not I should do anything else with it. I think the ending stands. 
> 
> And if you tumbl, definitely come inspire me to be a better person [here](http://theluckyouvegot.tumblr.com).


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